


I Bet By Now You Know About Me

by daffodil_daisy



Series: Season Of Kink 2020 [2]
Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Clubbing, Dom/sub Undertones, Dress Up, F/F, Held Down, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:21:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25206151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daffodil_daisy/pseuds/daffodil_daisy
Summary: Eve wants a relaxing evening after a stressful day at work. Except for how she absolutely does not want that at all. Villanelle steps in with something much better suited to her needs.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Series: Season Of Kink 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1807732
Kudos: 60





	I Bet By Now You Know About Me

Dating Villanelle is like playing a hundred games at once. Psychopaths get bored, are bored constantly. Every move Villanelle makes is to try to jolt her broken nervous system and up her arousal to the level of normal people. Eve’s been looking for excitement for a long time though, since long before first collating a file on a female assassin. It takes a certain type of woman to join MI5, after all. Every minute she spends trying to figure out what Villanelle is up to, what she wants, is a minute Eve spends feeling alive. 

One of the best games they play together is the sex. Eve’s never doubted that she’s honeytrapped, although does it really count if Villanelle is no more honey than a pile of razors would be? She’s also never not understood why all the marks fall for it. Villanelle exudes sex, carefully crafted in any flavour the mark most craves. Changing her sexual preference is no more of an effort than changing wigs for a job. Villanelle knows what Eve wants in bed more than Eve does, and everything she learns about herself makes her look forward to the next round all the more. 

There’s a lot of sex in public, of course. Villanelle likes the risk. She kissed Eve on a London bus, she talked her to orgasm throughout sex with Hugo, she shot Bill in a nightclub in front of her and a hundred others. Villanelle likes when Eve breaks down and shows herself in front of others, because of her. It makes her feel in control. And Eve’s long past feeling shame for wanting to be submissive, wanting to be _seen_. Nico offered the chance and then took it away the next morning over hammed up internal agony. Villanelle would cease to exist if she wasn’t superior. Even with Aaron dictating her meals and clothes and posture in Rome, Villanelle was always superior. 

Public sex isn’t the only kink though, not by far. It might be the most frequent, but doing the same thing every turn wouldn’t make for a fun game. They’ve fisted, they’ve used food on each other, they’ve squeezed each other’s bruises while still beaten black and blue from a job. Villanelle has as many sex toys as she has articles of clothing, and discards them for new ones just as easily. Eve’s lost track of the number of different dicks Villanelle’s attached to her harness of the week. Villanelle might be the only woman in the world who commissions sex toy harnesses like expensive jewellry.

Eve comes home from another frustrating meeting with Carolyn wanting nothing more than to take off her jacket and get a massage. God, she respects the fuck out of Carolyn, but she can’t fathom how she was ever happy to work for her at MI6. Bill and Elena and Kenny in that tiny hidden away office; it’s such a distant memory these days. Knowing Villanelle she’ll be full of zest, or at least pull on a persona of it to enjoy being contrary. Eve won’t be surprised if she ends up popping an unlabelled pill and tasting colours and hearing textures in some two hundred dollar plate of food at an exclusive restaurant it should take eight months to get a reservation for. It wouldn't be the first time Villanelle ate her out under a table, suggesting Eve keep her composure in front of the other patrons, only to work viciously to steal that composure with her tongue.

She takes it in a different direction, but Eve’s not wrong about Villanelle putting on an act of vigor and getting her out of the house again within an hour. They’re going dancing, apparently. It doesn’t matter if Villanelle’s line about a DJ she likes coming into town is a lie or not, Eve doesn’t care. There are important lies, and there are trivial lies, and Eve lets almost all of them go regardless of categorisation. She’s never been a stickler for honesty. It was Nico who tried to enforce that habit, and now that he’s long gone and she’s living with a professional liar, what’s honesty really matter? 

Villanelle’s always enjoyed dressing her. Eve’s in a short dress and spike heels before she knows it. The price tag probably totals thousands, not that Villanelle would ever do something as pedestrian as look at a price tag before purchasing something. The height of the heels is what Eve privately considers the pain aspect of the night, like the biting or scratching or spanking of another night. She says privately, but Villanelle kneels to curl a delicate chain around Eve’s ankle and takes a moment to press down hard on the top of her foot, really digging the poor support of the shoe into her arch, and Eve knows Villanelle knows exactly what this is.

The hemline’s not completely obscene, but there’s still not a lot of fabric to pull up her thighs before Villanelle has access to her panties. Eve stands and takes it with a blush when Villanelle tucks a vibe up into her before adjusting her underwear back to its proper sitting and smoothing the dress back down. Standing still the toy’s not too wide, not too obtrusive. Then Eve takes her first tottering step in the spike heels and has to tighten her muscles to keep on her feet. In the wake of her pussy clenching on the for now inert toy, Eve does her best not to gasp. She can sense the edges of this game, now.

Eve’s expecting Villanelle to make her come on the dance floor. She’s wet the whole first hour of neon lighting and fast thumping music, thinking about it. But of course that’s not what happens because that can be expected, and Villanelle never wants to be expected. Yes, she has the remote in her jacket pocket and clicks it on a few times, but never long enough to make Eve come. Just long enough to make her bite her lip and close her eyes. Just long enough to make Villanelle smirk.

What actually goes down, is Villanelle catching her on the way out of the bathroom. The hallway behind the bar is lit only by neon bulbs recessed into the wall a foot above the floor. The walls are covered in paintings curated to look their best in the altered lighting. Villanelle pushes Eve into a patch of lime green. Literally pushes, a firm hand on her scarred back making her stumble forward. Eve barely keeps herself on her feet in the ridiculous heels. 

Villanelle doesn’t give Eve time to stabilise herself. While she’s still off balance Villanelle stalks in, grabbing her and moving her to her liking. Eve finds herself slammed into the wall. The wooden frame of the art gouges a line across her back, and the canvas stretches under her sudden weight. With the five inches of heels she should be taller than her girlfriend, except of course Villanelle is in her own designer heels. Crystal studded poison frog yellow heels, the kind Eve doesn’t mind imagining being stepped on with. She snuffed out Dasha with a foot to the chest, and she’s not scared of dying under Villanelle the same way. 

But Villanelle’s not pinning her under a dirt covered shoe in the middle of a golfing glade. Instead she’s got her left arm braced against Eve’s collarbones, keeping her flush against neon glowing abstract art. Villanelle’s pressing in hard enough that her collarbones ache. Eve’s eyes flutter closed with the bite of pain.

It’s inevitable that the vibe turns on then. Eve can’t hear the click of the remote, not over the distant sound of club music. She doesn’t have super powers. But one second it’s still, its main purpose to stretch her open and make it impossible to forget she’s a sexual being, and the next it’s buzzing at the speed of light.

It’s all over in less than two minutes. As the orgasmic pleasure builds exponentially Eve’s legs keep trying to collapse. Only Villanelle’s forearm heavy against her chest keeps her standing. It’s a brutal pressure, and Eve fucking loves it. It’s everything Nico was too scared to enjoy. Eve opens her eyes as she orgasms, to lock gazes with Villanelle. Villanelle would never do something as amateurish as have dead eyes when playing a role, but Eve would like to think she can tell the difference between faux interest and her rare actual interest. She thinks nights like these, Villanelle can suck enough marrow out of life to actually taste something.

Villanelle steps back before Eve’s entirely regained her equilibrium. Steps back far enough to be out of the lime green and instead bathed in neon pink. She looks like a photoshopped definition of innocent femininity, and meanwhile Eve’s hair is falling out of her chignon from grinding her head against a painting and her panties are wet and rapidly cooling. If they stay dancing much longer she’s going to start chafing.

“I could kill Carolyn,” she says. Hard to say if she means it, or if she’s saying it for a reaction. Villanelle always wants attention, but she also kills as easily as she sneezes. It really would rank in as a light favour, given with much less difficulty than, say, not finishing the last of a dessert platter, or sharing a charger. 

“Thank you, but no.” If Eve reacts histrionically, Villanelle will linger over the idea. Possibly even get attached to it. Eve would rather she move on to a different preoccupation.

“I’m going to turn this to max. You’re going to get us a cab. Not an Uber. You’re going to go outside and hail an actual cab. If you can do it successfully I’ll hold you down in the backseat until you can’t sit up, and bite you so hard you bleed.”

The instructions are clear. The instructions are precise. Eve doesn’t have to follow them, Villanelle doesn’t own her. Eve can’t afford to lose her head in subspace like a normal submissive person, not when she’s in love with such a lethal dom. Situations are always to be examined for safety before entering, because Villanelle’s not going to. But Eve can’t think of anything wrong with this one. Worst case scenario the driver gets verbally lecherous, and Villanelle threatens him with a knife and they get a comped ride for their trouble. Eve takes a second to curl her toes in the too high heels before starting her way out of the club. It’s going to take extreme effort, but the payoff will be worth it. It’s the story of every day with her best beloved.


End file.
